Harry Potter and the Mind Sifter
by ZanyMuggle
Summary: ON HIATUS postHBP not DH compliant After his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter has a mission looming before him. When the plans Dumbledore left for him fall apart, his only hope rests on a ritual that will have grossly unexpected consequences.
1. Ritual

**The Disclaimer:**

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The phrase "Mind Sifter" comes from a short story in one of the first Star Trek paperbacks. As such, it is protected by copyright and/or trademark. No money is being made from my use of the term, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Astronomy Tower**  
**Saturday, May 31, 1997**

Harry Potter sat atop the Astronomy Tower, looking down at the tomb of his mentor Albus Dumbledore.

Less than a fortnight ago, the spot below was a clear piece of undeveloped land. At the same time, here on the tower, Harry had stood just a meter away from Dumbledore and watched him die, killed by someone he had so strongly defended.

Eight days ago, the former Headmaster's funeral was held at the site below, attracting mages, muggles, and others from around the world to mourn the passing of a great man. Harry could still see the crowds in his mind's eye.

Four days ago, Harry received a final letter from Dumbledore that detailed the next step in the mission to defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore had left Harry his Pensieve and a few other books and items that would be vital to the mission. Unfortunately, the Order of the Phoenix, now led by Headmistress McGonagall, decided to "hold the items in trust" until Harry had completed his NEWTs.

Tomorrow morning, the students remaining at Hogwarts would be sent "home" via the Hogwarts Express. If Harry wasn't able to claim what Dumbledore had left for him before then, his fight against Voldemort was pretty much over, lost before it was really started.

The problem lay with the remaining adults in his life. After all Harry had done, all he'd been subjected to, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, and _especially_ Molly Weasley believed Harry needed to be hidden away and protected at Black Manor for the summer, then returned to Hogwarts for his final year in the fall. He'd shared the Prophecy with them, the part that Voldemort knew (_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._). He had also told them that Professor Dumbledore had prepared a mission that only he, Harry James Potter, could fulfill.

That wasn't enough. Unless he was willing to divulge the nature and details of Dumbledore's mission, they had already decided what Harry would be doing for the next year.

_Harry stood in Professor McGonagall's office, face-to-face with Remus, with Professor McGonagall and Arthur and Molly Weasley nearby. Harry was frustrated with their inability to understand the importance, the relevance of what he was telling them._

"_Harry," Remus said, "I understand that Dumbledore may have had plans for how to defeat Voldemort, and it's obvious you're central to them. But you need to realize that you're simply not ready. One more year of school will make a world's difference, you'll see."_

"_Remus, you don't understand at all. We don't have the time. Dumbledore started a mission that destroyed his hand, and made him weak enough for Snivellus to kill him. He specifically told me it was vital that I continue where he left off. He did not include time to play Quidditch, time to earn house points, or time to study how to conjure stylish furniture out of thin air! People are dying!"_

_Harry looked at everyone to say, "I'm holding the key to this war, and you won't let me use it. Why?"_

"_Now, Harry," Molly started in her parent-to-small-child voice. Harry loved his surrogate mother dearly, but was fed up with her seeing him as a naive child who needed to be shielded from the big, bad world. Harry had lived in the big, bad world since age 1, when his parents died._

"_Mrs. Weasley, I can't say it any more clearly: I'm not a child. I never was. I appreciate you trying to shield me, but please STOP! I have to do this. Think of your boggart. Is that what you want?"_

_Mrs. Weasley stepped back, looking as though she'd been slapped. Her husband wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a comforting gesture, and looked at Harry with a stern, angry glare._

_Professor McGonagall also glared at Harry, and responded, "Enough, Mr. Potter. If you cannot trust us enough to share Albus' mission, we will continue as planned."_

Discussion closed.

It all came down to fear versus trust. He knew they cared for him, especially the Weasleys, and so some of their stubbornness was driven by fear for him, for his safety and well-being. _It's a shame they don't realize that I already have far more direct experience in the wars with Voldemort than they ever will. They're not qualified to make any of these decisions on my behalf, not even Lupin or McGonagall._ They couldn't let go of that fear and just trust Harry, like Dumbledore had, trust that Harry understood what troubles lay ahead and that he was up to the task. It was too big a step for them to take.

This did not kill Harry's determination, though. The first step mentioned in Dumbledore's letter was for Harry to talk privately to the portrait of Dumbledore in the Headmistress's office. The portrait would give Harry instructions on what to do with the Pensieve and other items to continue the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes. The letter emphasized that only Ron and Hermione could know of the Horcruxes, and that Harry must first talk to the portrait before doing anything else. So all Harry needed to do was talk to Dumbledore's portrait, and everything would get sorted out.

Except... all the portraits of former Headmasters had been removed from the Headmistress's office. McGonagall didn't know where they'd gone, nor did the staff or house-elves. Or so they said.

That got Harry desperate. Hermione, Ron, and even Ginny had tried to convince him that it was a sign he needed to return to Hogwarts in the fall. Hermione believed it so strongly that she accepted McGonagall's offer of the Head Girl position for the next year. When Harry tried to mention that they should get started now, not in a year, Hermione got nervous and suspicious, as though Harry was suggesting they invite Voldemort to tea that very afternoon.

Harry suspected that any faith Hermione had once held in him had been undermined by the Department of Mysteries fiasco. All last year, Ron and Hermione were skeptical and generally unhelpful in his suspicions about Draco Malfoy. Obviously, Hermione's doubts had infected the two youngest Weasleys. Did Luna and Neville even trust him now?

Despite all of this, Harry felt certain that the mission couldn't wait. Every moment that passed increased the probability that Voldemort would discover the loss of his Horcruxes. If Voldemort knew what Harry was doing, the quest would be infinitely more difficult. Harry felt certain that, were Riddle given a year, Harry would never find and destroy the dark repositories of the Dark Lord's soul.

Harry would not run unprepared into danger, not after what happened to Sirius, but neither could he languish at Hogwarts and "play school". He simply didn't have it in him to watch and wait and let others die while he could do something about it.

Finally, however, it seemed as though Fate smiled on Harry Potter, just once. He found a book hidden deep within the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library called "Magick of the Mind". The book detailed a ritual on how to transfer the memories from a Pensieve to the ritual caster's mind en masse.

It was perfect! Harry couldn't take the Pensieve, but he could take the memories within. Dobby had assured Harry that the Pensieve was still in the cabinet in the Headmistress's office – for now. Dobby could also arrange a little "private time" for Harry and the Pensieve. There was just one catch: the ritual caster had to be a master of Occlumency. Occlumency was necessary so that the caster could process the memories as they were fed into their mind.

Once again, Harry was stumped, until the Weasley twins appeared. Knowing the troubles that Voldemort had given Harry via the scar over the last few years, they had gotten Harry an Occlusion Amulet, the poor man's substitute for the skill of Occlumency. The nature and timing of their gift was unbelievably lucky. _If anything was a sign,_ Harry thought, _that was._

All of this led to Harry being atop the Astronomy Tower with only hours before his opportunity to follow Dumbledore's mission disappeared for a whole year. He had all the supplies, had memorized the necessary incantations and patterns of runes.

It all came down to fear versus trust.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmistress' Office**  
**Sunday, June 1, 1997**

Just before dawn, Harry finished creating the circle of runes around himself, Dumbledore's Pensieve cabinet, and a bowl of reddish-brown powder needed to seal the circle and start the ritual. With one more nervous clutch at the Amulet around his neck, Harry started intoning the ritual incantation and spreading the powder around the circle from rune to rune.

Once the powder was spread, the incantation was done, and the circle complete, a bluish glow engulfed the runes, the Pensieve, and Harry's head. Harry could feel the thoughts flowing into him, thoughts of people, places and ideas he could hardly conceive.

The glowing of the pensieve ebbed and finally ceased, as though the magic had all been leeched out. It was now nothing more than a stone basin, but the magical reaction started by the ceremony continued on. All matter in the universe is composed of, and held together by, the most basic, natural, fundamental form of Magick, the essence that holds all form together against Entropy (i.e. Decay). As the magical reaction churned on, even this spark of magic was drawn from the Pensieve, until its very physical cohesion was compromised, and only dust was left.

And the reaction continued on.

Next, the Occlusion Amulet dimmed and turned to dust, followed quickly by the bowl of powder, the Pensieve cabinet, and Harry's clothes. Nothing was left in the circle but Harry.

Next, Harry began to scream.

In a bright white tomb, not a kilometer away, the body of Albus Dumbledore crumbled to dust as the last bits of residual magic were drawn from it.

Kilometers away, the barely-human Lord Voldemort screamed, a high-pitched inhuman scream, as his essence was peeled away. First, his memories were extracted, then the magical enhancements that kept him one of the world's most powerful wizards, then his base magical powers, and his life essence. Finally, the residual magic holding his physical form together was leeched away, leaving nothing but a very fine dust â€" and a cadre of stunned followers â€" where the Dark Lord Voldemort stood seconds before.

And the reaction continued on.

Next, back at the Headmistress's office, the runes themselves were stripped from the stone floor. Rather than ending the ceremony that was siphoning memories, magic, and who-knows-what-else into Harry, the loss of the runes seemed to accelerate the reaction.

Several books jumped across the room, slammed into Harry, then crumbled to dust. Fawkes' perch came next, nearly knocking Harry unconscious when it hit, then it too was dust. Shiny objects, broken by Harry a year ago and repaired by Dumbledore; gems; a bowl of lemon drops – more and more items were pulled to Harry and reduced to fine dust.

Finally, the Sorting Hat flew to Harry. When it touched him, the reaction was instantly, forcibly stopped. This did not, however, bring calm.

As soon as the last vestiges of the ceremony and reaction ended, the backlash began. Harry's body expelled the excess magic forced into him that he couldn't contain. The objects that he hadn't absorbed were now pushed outward by waves of raw, uncontrolled magic. Most of the furniture and other large items made it out the window, although they'd never be in usable shape again. The smaller items were reduced to pulp by the onslaught of raw magic, and by the force of hitting the walls or other items.

Not long after the last shelf was hurled from a window, the backlash subsided and finally stopped completely. The office was empty except for the naked, smoking body of Harry Potter. The walls, floor, and ceiling were worn as smooth as glass. Finally, it was silent.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0


	2. Awakening

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry was on fire. His head felt as though his eyeballs were casting the Cruciatus curse on his brain. From his frontal lobe, the pain forced itself onto the rest of his brain and overflowed, burning its way outward through his nervous system, then inward again through his sensory systems. He couldn't see, he couldn't think, he couldn't feel. There was only hot, searing pain.

Riddle would have loved it.

Finally, the pain receded just enough so that Harry could give it form. He was in a sea of raw energy. Magic. Life. Creation. It surrounded him, and filled him. When he reached saturation, the energy soaked into every fiber of his being, seeping into every cell, making him more awake, more _aware_, than he had ever dreamed possible.

_He was in the Headmistress's office, bathed in the magical energy that filled the vacant office._

_He was standing in front of the Inner Circle of Death Eaters, his mind and body melting away._

_He was lying dead in a white, marble tomb, one of the quietest, most secure places on the planet, while his corpse turned to dust and dispersed._

The energy swelled and expanded, and Harry's pain did as well, tearing his consciousness apart. That little bit of Harry that could still form thoughts imagined this was his end, an overload of creative energy that would consume him. His last few thoughts were calmness and gratitude at the peace to come.

Before that peace could begin, however, something deep within the soup of magical energy stirred. It was cold and hungry, and driven above all else to survive. Rather than being crippled by the pain, the pain fueled it. Bit by bit, it drew in the strands of thoughts, energy, and purpose from the magical mixture, bringing Harry's consciousness back into being. Absorbing the last bit of amassed energy, Harry's mind propelled itself back to reality.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hospital Wing**  
**Sunday, June 8, 1997**

Harry woke suddenly, drawing in a gasp of breath as though he had just been resurrected from the dead. His sudden motion caused him to fall off the bed he was in, and onto the cold, stone floor. He knew immediately that he was in the Hogwarts infirmary; the smells and sounds gave it away.

Sensing someone close by, he opened his eyes and focused on the woman leaning over him. Harry's deep blue eyes locked with hers, and it reminded him of the many times he'd seen her eyes shining and face glowing after they'd made love. Their friendship and occasional intimacy had turned into a deep, abiding love over the years, and he struggled to remember why he never married her.

He rose to a sitting position, reached one hand behind her neck, and pulled her face to his. His other hand wrapped around her waist, and she fell to him as her balance gave way. As his mouth met hers for a searing kiss, he all but moaned her name.

"Minnie."

Harry focused his conscious mind on the kiss, and on the warm body pressed against him. This freed his newly awakened senses and instincts to stalk the surrounding environment, assessing everything within the infirmary. Another set of people had come around the bed to see him. None of them said a word, but the movement of air and sound of footfalls advertised their positions. Even more so, the thoughts and feelings they were broadcasting all but screamed what was on their minds to Harry. He could feel Hermione's presence, as well as a good deal of shock and a thousand questions radiating from her. Ron was beside her, also shocked but blessedly free of any other thoughts. Ginny was beside them, shocked and quite angry. Madame Pomphrey was in her office, unaware of whatever had everyone else so shocked. Lastly, next to him, Professor McGonagall –

SLAP!

The sudden snap from pleasure to pain once again gave Harry focus. His green eyes looked first at McGonagall, then at the others, stopping at Ginny with some puzzlement. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He stood up, not realizing that he was naked, and said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Voldemort's dead."

After a moment of shocked silence, the infirmary burst into chaos.

"Dead? How…?" "Mate, are you sure you're…?" "Wha… Mr. Potter, what on earth…?"

Harry seemed oblivious to the barrage of questions. He walked over to the window and looked out at the grounds. The hospital wing, like practically half of the castle, looked out onto Dumbledore's tomb.

"Practically the safest, quietest spot in all of Britain," Harry mumbled distractedly to himself.

While Harry's looked out the window, his heightened senses told him that Madame Pomphrey had entered the room, that 32 other beings – all house elves – were within a dozen or so meters of the infirmary, and that he needed to pee very soon. Harry turned to face the people gathered nearby. All of them except Pomphrey had their eyes and jaws open wide. The nurse conjured robes onto Harry, which apparently broke the spell holding the others' attention.

"Mister Potter, you will kindly explain yourself. What makes you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead?" McGonagall asked.

"Wait," Harry replied as he walked past them. "Someone's listening."

He walked into Madame Pomphrey's office and turned to face a painting mounted on the wall. It contained one of the bygone healers whose wizarding portrait Harry had seen in St. Mungo's in his Fifth Year.

"Eavesdropping is rude, you know," Harry said to the portrait.

"Why, I never! In my day, young man–" it protested.

"Your day is gone, madam," Harry said as he placed his left palm on the center of the picture. He knew there was a way to freeze the magic in the painting, but couldn't quite remember how. He closed his eyes and concentrated, reaching out with his essence into the portrait.

Harry felt throughout the magical work of art, savoring its intricacies. This painter had been particularly gifted. As he withdrew his magical tendrils from the portrait, however, he unwittingly took the energy of the portrait with him. With that energy, Harry felt a surge of power – the skill, effort, and love that went into making the portrait – become his own. He opened his eyes just in time to see the painting decay into a fine dust and disappear.

Madame Pomphrey came into the room and gasped. Harry was crouched over a small pile of dust on the floor, and she realized instantly what she had lost.

"I'm sorry," Harry told her. "It was a beautiful work, even if it was used for less-than-honest purposes."

"Mr. Potter," the Hogwarts healer said in an affronted tone, "that painting was a gift from a dear friend. It also happened to be a communications conduit to St. Mungo's."

"It also happened to be someone else's means to eavesdrop on you. And I mean someone other than just Albus. As I said, I'm sorry, but I needed privacy for what I'm about to tell the headmistress and my friends. Would you care to join us? You're one of the few people I'd trust with my life, so I believe I can trust you with this secret."

As Harry and Madame Pomphrey rejoined the others in the infirmary, Harry sensed that they were now alone in the area. Apparently, the house elves realized that they needed privacy.

Harry cut to the chase. "Voldemort is dead. I know because I saw it through his eyes. I don't quite understand yet what happened, or why, but I am quite certain that he died." He turned to McGonagall, and then continued, "However, he can revive himself almost immediately. He essentially had seven lives, like the legendary nine lives of a cat. Professor Dumbledore and I destroyed two of his potential lives before he could invoke them. Another will be used to revive him now, although I'm not certain how long…"

Harry stared off in a random direction, obviously lost in thought. "No, wait. All Hallow's Eve – that's when he'd plan to do it."

He turned back to the group. "That gives us several months for research and footwork."

Hermione cut in again, "Stop, Harry, stop! How do you know all this? What did you do to yourself? You've been unconscious for days. You've been giving off magic, glowing, and we couldn't even approach you at times." She took his right hand into both of hers. "Your scars from Umbridge's detentions are gone, and you're taller. You must be about 2 meters tall now. And can you see without your glasses? You haven't even looked for them since you got up."

"Let me finish this thought, Hermione, then I'll try to answer your questions. Remember, though, it's all still very fuzzy to me right now."

After extricating his hand from Hermione's, Harry turned back to McGonagall and Pomphrey, and said, "Ladies, Albus wanted this to remain secret, even from you. I have broken his faith to share this much with you. Can you promise me not to speak to anyone – not **_anyone_** – about this?"

"Mr. Potter," the Professor said in a longsuffering tone, "you are the single most exasperating student I have ever taught. We will speak on this again – in **_detail_**. Until then, you have my word that I will discuss it with no one."

Madame Pomphrey agreed as well, obviously curious as to Harry's vague description of Voldemort's resurrection capability, but also willing to give Harry time to share the information.

"Thank you both," Harry replied, realizing they were giving him a temporary reprieve and a little more time to recuperate.

Ron finally spoke up. "So, Harry, what's going on, then? And, why did you – er – why'd you kiss the Professor?"

Harry looked a bit puzzled at Ron. "Ron, I may have broken up with her, but you know how I feel about Minnie – Ginny –" Harry looked thoughtful a moment, then his eyes went wide with sudden realization. He looked back at McGonagall, this time a bit sheepishly.

"Uh, sorry, Professor," he said, rather lamely.

"You realize, Mr. Potter," she said with an almost unnoticeable smirk, "that not even your father or godfather tried that kind of prank on me. Nonetheless, you may consider your apology accepted."

Harry could still pick up some uneasiness from her regarding some aspect of what happened, and could easily have dug into her mind to find what it was. He decided, though, I'll leave that sort of underhanded shit to Tom and Albus.

Harry was brought to his senses as Ron once again spoke up.

"Enough, mate – spill! What's happened to you?"

Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder, and looked at him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Change, my friend. And not a moment too soon."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Author's Notes:**

Extra credit goes to whoever can identify the original source of the last line.


	3. Musing

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Harry was floating, disembodied. He was following a magical trail to find someone very important, the person who would help him regain what he had lost. Once that was accomplished, Harry would work tirelessly to end the stalemate between those in power, and those destined to wield that power._

_Finally, Harry reached his goal. He was hovering in a dingy bathroom directly above his quarry. He could feel the man's anxiety and fear, and savored them for a moment. Then, he struck._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Peter Pettigrew woke with a groan. A night out with Mundungus Fletcher came with a cost – in more ways than one – but this time would be worth it.

As he stumbled to the privy, he considered the pendant hanging around his neck. He could feel the barely-contained power it exuded, as it practically burned its emblem, an embossed 'S', into his chest.

After relieving himself, the former Marauder staggered to the bathroom sink and splashed water onto his face. He drank a handful of the murky water to soothe his parched mouth, then groped for a hand towel. Finding the towel that stank the least, he dried his face and looked into the dirty mirror.

Upon seeing his reflection, Pettigrew's eyes widened in terror and he stumbled backward.

"M… m… master? Is it you?" he asked in a trembling voice.

The face looking back at Pettigrew from the mirror was his own, but with glowing red eyes, sharp teeth like those of a shark, and a smile that spoke of power and pain.

"_Hello, worm. You have done well, retrieving the Locket of Slytherin. Now I have a far more important task for you."_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hospital Wing**  
**Thursday, June 12, 1997**

Harry Potter had the mother of all headaches.

Splitting headaches had long been commonplace for Harry. He used to have "Voldemort headaches", the result of the Dark Lord poking around in his mind. These new headaches, though, made his head feel like the Wizengamot had all taken up residence inside his skull, and were engaged in round-the-clock arguments. Harry was certain they were tearing off pieces of his brain and throwing them at each other.

It was eleven days since Harry had performed the ritual, and four days since he'd woken up after the ritual. He was still staying in the Infirmary, as everyone (read: the Headmistress, Madame Pomphrey, and, of course, Hermione) decided he still needed to be under the Healer's watchful eye. He slept about three hours each night since his "return", but woke being as fully rested as he figured someone in his distorted mental shape could be. It was now 4 A.M., time to get up and start exercising.

As he moved to a nearby cabinet to get a headache potion, Harry reminisced about the previous night's dreams, something about Riddle trying to resurrect himself with one of the Horcruxes. Harry didn't know why he'd be getting dreams from Voldemort, seeing as the old snake was no longer around. Harry knew he couldn't afford to ignore the issue, though. Until all the Horcruxes were destroyed, Riddle could return. Fortunately, Harry felt he could extract the Horcrux locations from the memories he'd absorbed.

Absorption. Harry had to deal with his power to absorb magical powers and energy. The power was growing so fast that he suspected he'd soon be unable to control it. What if he used it on a person unintentionally? This worried Harry until he thought about using it on Lucius Malfoy, or his evil hatchling Draco. Then he thought about absorbing Snape, sucking every bit of his power, and leaving him an empty, non-magical husk. That brought a smile to Harry's face. _Snape can keep his memories, though. I already have more memories, good and bad, than I can process._

Harry turned serious again, realizing he could only be so cavalier in his fantasies. He thought again about controlling the power, and something tickled the edge of his conscious mind, a memory of something relevant. _Something I read… what was it I read that applied to absorption? Ah, yes – elves are naturally more attuned to magic, more able to sense different aspects and read auras. I should ask Dobby about the absorption._

Before calling on Dobby, though, Harry decided to jog around the grounds for a bit. He started jogging the day before, when the jumbled state of his mind had left him feeling both restless and agitated. A couple of hours of vigorous exercise seemed to work at clearing his mind and calming him down, so he'd try it again this morning.

In a few minutes, Harry was dressed and outside. As he jogged, he let his mind wander.

When Harry had learned of the ceremony and concocted the plan to "recover" Dumbledore's Pensieve, he knew that it wouldn't be easy afterwards. He expected the pain and confusion, but he had assumed that he would have some control of the memories he gained. _Ha! As if my life has ever been that simple!_

Now, his mind was a scrambled mess of images, contradictory memories fighting for dominance. He was an almost-17-year-old virgin, having kissed two girls and even gone a bit further with one of them. Yet he was also a 150-year-old man, an accomplished lover who knew that the greatest pleasure came from exploring a partner, learning their nuances, savoring the secrets that were unique to them. Of course, the fact that many of those unbelievably open, intimate moments were with Minerva McGonagall – yikes! And yet Harry was now also a dark, twisted parody of a human that used sex merely to torment others, to break their spirits, to show them that they had no control but what he allowed.

And his power – it was surging all over the place! Everything he did was wandless and silent now, not because he knew what he was doing, but because he _forgot_ that he didn't know how to do it. He just thought about something being done with magical energy, like conjuring a glass of water or summoning a chair to him, and it happened. No words, no wand, and sometimes not even movement of a hand. And yet, if he consciously thought about doing a powerful spell, he wouldn't remember how to do it.

The ceremony seemed to have given Harry quite a few unexpected benefits in the physical realm as well. All of his scars (except the most famous one) were gone – the words carves on the back of his hand from Umbridge's detentions, the long, jagged scar made by Wormtail for Voldemort's rebirthing ceremony, and the miscellaneous smaller scars that came from a decade of being the Dursleys' whipping boy. That was just the tip of the iceberg, though. His vision seemed to be perfect now, and his body seemed to have stretched while he was unconscious after the ceremony, as though years of malnutrition had been washed away in a flood of magic.

Harry stopped to catch his breath. He'd run 5 kilometers today and his mind was still a swirl of disparate thoughts and images. He sighed, and watched the sunrise before he went back inside.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Harry decided to have his chat with Dobby.

"Dobby?"

Harry's elven friend appeared next to Harry with a quiet 'pop'. "Harry Potter called Dobby?"

"Yes. Hi, Dobby. I was wondering… you've obviously noticed my growing ability to absorb magical energy from things."

Dobby's eyes grew even wider than normal, and he nodded his bulbous head.

"Well, it's growing faster than I can control it. Is there anything you know that can help me understand this power? If I don't learn to control it soon, I'll be a menace to everyone around me."

"Dobby knows, Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter and Dobby have a long talk, but not heres. If Harry Potter, sir, will follows Dobby, Dobby shows Harry Potter, sir, a safe place where we's can talk.

In a rush of hidden passages, dark hallways, and moving stairs, Dobby took Harry to a section of the dungeons that Harry had never seen before. When Harry asked why they didn't just use the Room of Requirement for privacy, Dobby had tsk'd and told him, "Just because we not sees the portraits does not mean they not sees and hears us. Since Harry Potter, sir, is having Professor Dumblydore's mind, Harry Potter, sir, should know that."

After the two had reached a small, musty, windowless classroom that looked to have not been used in a century or two, Dobby warded it against eavesdroppers, then began to talk. "You see, Harry Potter, sir. Magic is in all things – rocks, trees, people, buildings. Magic is Life, Creation, Vigor. But Magic has its opposite, too, which is Decay, or Rot, or Destruction, or what Muggle peoples call 'Entropy'. Unicorns is the essence of Creation; Dementors is the essence of Decay.

"Wizards and witches can use the Magic, but Goblins and elves can _sees_ the Magic, and centaurs can _feel_ the Magic. This is like how wizards and witches can feel Dementors.

"Now, baby elves is not born seeing Magic right. When they starts to see Magic, they not controlling what they sees. They sees too much. Baby elves must _learn_ to see Magic right. Baby elves taught to look at one piece of Magic at a time, and they learns control.

"Harry Potter, sir, needs to absorb one bit at a time, learns how it feels, understands what part of Magic Harry Potter, sir, is digesting. Harry Potter, sir, must learn the taste of memories, the different taste of abilities, and the taste of life itself. Harry Potter, sir, should starts with simple things – pieces of wood, metal, and the like – then he should tries a simple magic object, then he should tries drawing a little Magic from a living creature."

Harry thought for a while, then finally said, "Dobby, that is possibly the most insightful information I've ever had a teacher tell me. It will take me some time and thought to really understand everything you've said." With that, he did the last thing Dobby expected, something the "old" Harry would never have done.

Harry gave Dobby a huge, grateful hug.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0


	4. Talking

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmistress' Office**  
**Thursday, June 12, 1997**

After everyone else had risen and had breakfast, Harry asked Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomphrey, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Dobby (much to the elf's surprise) to meet with him to continue their overdue discussion. The Headmistress volunteered her office for the meeting; since, without the portraits, it was one of the most secure rooms in the school.

The group gathered in the Headmistress's office, with Professor McGonagall seated behind her desk and Harry standing at the opposite end of the room. The others were seated between Harry and McGonagall, facing Harry, avidly listening as he spoke.

Harry was being as forthcoming as he dared. He was only sharing anything at all because this group had all magically sworn to keep the things they heard and discussed secret.

Harry started with a quick summary of his brain-scrambling ritual. "The ceremony I performed was 'Transtuli Recordatio'."

Hermione gasped and put a hand to her mouth. She then blurted out, "Harry James Potter!" Ron and Ginny both rolled their eyes, knowing Hermione was just starting a rant.

Harry would have none of it, though, and made a request of the group. "Please, I have a lot to tell you. Hold your questions and comments until I've finished this part.

"Okay, the ceremony worked perfectly at first, but just kept going faster and stronger when it should have stopped.

"I was supposed to get Albus' memories from the Pensieve. That part worked, but I seem to have gotten a lot more memories than he intended, as well as a few powers and a lot of raw magical energy. The energy should have killed me, but my body seems to have harnessed it for healing, strengthening, and the like. I don't know if that's because of the ceremony, if it's some power of Albus' I absorbed, or what. I do know, however, that I can still harness energy that way.

"To demonstrate, I'll need something magical that won't be missed, like a dime-store necklace with a charm on it."

Ginny took off a bracelet and handed it to Harry.

Just to be safe, he asked her, "Are you sure you won't miss it? There won't be anything left of it."

Ginny replied, "Nah. It's just a trifle I bought at Hogsmeade last year. I think it has a Cheering Charm or some such cast on it."

"Okay then, if you're sure," he conceded. Once again addressing the rest of the group, Harry said, "Now, watch."

Harry pulled a knife out of his robe, and cut a long, deep incision in his palm. He dropped the bracelet in his bleeding palm and closed the hand. After a moment, he opened the hand. No trace, not even the least bit of a scar, was left of the cut. Likewise, nothing but dust remained of the bracelet.

"Okay, questions?"

"Harry, how could you do something so rash–" Hermione said in a rush, before Harry cut her off.

"I said 'questions', Hermione, not 'criticisms'. If you don't have something constructive to add, please be quiet and let someone else speak," Harry admonished, disappointed that Hermione was still trying to play the role of a nag.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, surprised at being chastised in such an adult manner by Harry or Ron, "her boys". She sat still, looking stunned.

Ginny spoke up, after looking Harry up and down. "Harry, you're… bigger…"

Ron turned and stared at Ginny, his eyes wide and mouth open.

Ginny punched Ron in the arm, then said, "No, I mean, Harry, you're… taller, and broader, and you aren't wearing glasses. Is this all because of the ritual?"

"Yeah, as far as the height and muscle go, I figure this is what I would have looked like had I not been starved and forced to live in a small closet for a decade.

"As for the glasses, that's a little bonus."

Professor McGonagall spoke up next, voicing a question that worried them all. "Where did you find this ritual, Mr. Potter? Its results are what one would expect from an application of dark magic."

"The ritual came from a book in the Restricted Section called 'Magick of the Mind'. Unless you found it in the wreckage after the ceremony, it was consumed. The book primarily covered creating and using pensieves and other magical artifacts to capture memories or thoughts. It had warnings all over it, but had no blood rituals or anything that would indicate it was dark. None of the spells or rituals was invasive or coercive."

Despite his reassurances, Harry could tell the group (minus Dobby) was still quite suspicious of the ceremony. This made him reluctant to share the extent of knowledge and power he had gained from Voldemort. He decided to skip over that topic and jump to discussing the Horcruxes.

"Now, I already mentioned that Voldemort was dead. Because of his connection to me, the ritual killed him went it went haywire. I watched through his eyes as the magic incinerated him. Even better, he was in the middle of a meeting with almost all of the Death Eaters, so all his lackeys got to watch him fry too.

"Right now, I expect Tom's followers are recuperating from the shock, and are vying for power, but are also wondering if he'll manage to rise again. As some of you know, Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces, keeping one to stay alive, and placing the other six into artifacts known as Horcruxes. Each Horcrux can be used to revive him."

Harry stopped and looked Hermione in the eyes. "Hermione, would you please fill Ginny, Professor McGonagall, and Madame Pomphrey in on the specifics of Horcruxes after this meeting?"

For a moment, Hermione looked uncertain whether to still be angry with Harry, or to be pleased at his acknowledgement of her expertise. She chose the latter and nodded in response.

"Two Horcruxes have been destroyed, as has the non-Horcrux portion of his soul. That leaves four: the locket of Slytherin, the cup of Hufflepuff, the tome of Ravenclaw, and Riddle's familiar, Nagini.

"I believe Nagini is the most important of the remaining Horcruxes. From what I can tell, Nagini was Riddle's insurance. He would update the essence and memories stored in Nagini regularly. That way, if a 'replacement Voldemort' had to be created, he would be right nearby and of equal power and knowledge as the original VoldeMMMMAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Deep inside the underground offices of Britain's Ministry of Magic, a large black form emerged from the shadows of a recessed corner in one of a hundred identical hallways._

_He sniffed the air. His prey had been nearby recently._

_He slipped back into the shadows, and emerged in another hallway a few dozen meters away._

_He sniffed again, and a third time. Yes, his prey was very close, but was in the company of one or two others. He withdrew into the shadows, crept slightly further down the hall, and waited._

"_Madame, please understa–" a young male said. His voice was patient and kind, but his scent betrayed his impatience and anger._

"_Don't you dare patronize me! Remember your place, and how easily replaced you are. I'm telling you, if we don't bring Potter and his miscreant band of followers under Ministry control right away…"_

_The black beast stopped paying attention to his prey's words. Her voice was unbelievably irritating, and her smell was even worse. The nasty artificial scent she soaked herself in almost covered her natural odor. This was hardly an obstacle to her stalker, though; merely an irritant. It was his nature, his very essence, to find his prey and dispatch them. Dealing with this cow would not only be easy, it would be satisfying._

_The shadow creature's senses perked up as the young human male made to leave._

_The woman's scent was tinged with anger, fear, and excitement. Apparently, the thought of bringing in her own prey not only served to quell her fear, it aroused her._

_The beast's red eyes narrowed, and he stepped from the shadows, scarcely a meter from her. A low growl emerged from his throat, and the fear in her scent spiked._

_Finally, he struck._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry Potter woke with a start, once again on a bed in the Hospital Wing. _Dammit, am I ever going to just go to sleep again, and not fall unconscious?_

Without opening his eyes, he could sense he was alone, or as alone as he ever was in Pomphrey's domain. The healer was in her office and a dozen or less house elves were performing duties nearby.

Harry stood and walked over to the nearest window. The sun was setting, casting an orange-reddish glow on the forest and lake. He spotted a couple of Aurors on the grounds below, apparently thinking they might still find some clue about the Death Eater attack and Dumbledore's murder. Harry had never heard whether any students or staff had been detained or arrested. _Probably only another innocent, another Stan Shunpike in jail while the rich-and-guilty get away free,_ he thought somewhat cynically.

Harry thought back, remembering what he was doing when the headache struck. It was a bad time to interrupt the meeting. Harry needed to finish the conversation about Horcruxes and, more importantly, to tell them about Snape.

_Apparently, I'd better be careful with accessing powers or memories I haven't used before. Too much at once seems to trigger one of those 'brain farts'._

Harry changed clothes and went to tell Madame Pomphrey that he was heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

As Harry stepped through the portrait hole for the first time since the ritual, a pair of excited redheads ambushed him, shooting question after question at him without taking a breath. Meanwhile, on a sofa in the corner of the room, Hermione sat, without a book for once, staring at the table in front of her.

"Ron! Ginny!" Harry said with a chuckle. "Take a breath! I'm not going anywhere, not right now. We can chat all night. Would you mind, though, if I have a talk with Hermione first? I think I need to soothe some ruffled feathers."

This new perceptive, sensitive side of Harry Potter shocked both Weasleys. Of all the words of praise they could use for their friend, "perceptive" and "sensitive" ranked right with "giant-sized" and "even-tempered".

Harry took Ron and Ginny's shocked silence as approval for a quiet chat with Hermione, and headed over to her couch.

"Hi, Hermione. Mind if I sit down?"

"Sure. Fine. I'll… I'll just go," she said, getting up.

"Hermione, please," he said, laying a hand on one of her arms to gently stop her before she could completely stand up. She sat back down, and he moved his hand under her chin, raising it up so he could look her in the eye.

Harry continued, "You've asked me a million times to open up and talk. Well, I'm about to do just that. You wouldn't want to miss it, would you?" He knew his attempt to inject a little humor into the situation was poor, but she rewarded him with a small smile anyway.

"You and Ron have been with me forever – for all the good parts of my life. Even the time I had with Ginny was because of your help. But I've changed, and I continue to change. I have to ask everyone close to me to adapt to that, or else step back so they don't get hurt when I do what I was born to do.

Harry dropped his hand from Hermione's chin, but she continued looking him in the eye as he continued to speak.

"I know you respect Authority, Hermione, and you work within the system to solve any problem you face. Frankly, I don't understand it, but I can certainly respect it.

"Dumbledore gave me the choice this year. I could step into the arena, or be dragged into it. I've agreed to take the responsibility he left behind. I can listen to others, I can take advice, but **_I'm_** the one who has to make the decisions now. I can't defer that responsibility to anyone else. For better or for worse, **I** was chosen.

"I'm not a child anymore. **_We're_** not children anymore. If there's an authority of fighting Tom Riddle and his buddies, I'm it. So it comes down to this: can you respect me, believe in me as that authority, have faith in me, or are you better suited to a different path? Either way, I plan on us being friends for a very, very long time."

Hermione threw her arms around Harry in a Molly-worthy hug and said, "You really have changed, Harry. I want to change, too. All of us, together, we'll make the wizarding world a fit place for future generations!"

After savoring the hug with Hermione for a few minutes, Harry separated from her and said, "Now, I need to have similar talks with Ron and Ginny. Can we four meet up for a group talk in about 30 minutes?"

"Certainly, Harry. I'll see you then," she replied as she gathered her things and headed up to the girls' dorms.

Harry stepped over to the couch Ron and Ginny were occupying nearby, and said, "Well, I think Hermione and I have an understanding. I'd like to have a similar, separate chat with each of you, and then I was hoping we could have a group chat afterward. Does that sound okay to you two?"

After the Weasley siblings nodded their approval, Harry sat down and continued talking, "Right, then. Ginny, if you'll give Ron and me about 15 minutes, you and I can chat afterward."

Ginny smiled and headed upstairs, leaving Ron and Harry alone. Harry knew Ron was not always adaptable to change, but he strongly hoped Ron would be willing to weather the recent and upcoming changes for their friendship's sake.

"Well, Ron, have you told Hermione yet?"

Ron turned to Harry, looking dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"Ron," Harry replied, "life is short. Hermione's crazy about you. You're crazy about her. Tell her. Instead of thinking about what being with her is like, just do it."

"Bu- I- whu-," Ron said, showing his usual aptitude regarding discussions about the fairer sex.

"Hmmmm. Maybe we should write cue cards for you. You're sounding distinctly too much like Crabbe right now," Harry said with a smirk.

Ron hit Harry in the shoulder and smirked back.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right, Harry," he said. "But why would she want to go out with-"

"You're good enough, Ron," Harry replied, "Good enough; brave enough; smart enough (when you try). She deserves you, and you deserve her."

Ron's eyes were red now, and he was stared resolutely at the floor in front of him. "Thanks, man."

"Sure thing, Ron," Harry said. He lightly hit Ron's knee to get him to look up. "As for the other talk, well, here goes. Ron, you've been my best friend since I had friends. You've faced just stupid levels of danger on my behalf. Whenever it's been time to face the current dragon, basilisk, murderous DADA professor, or whatever, my first thought has always been, 'Where's Ron? We've got a job to do!'

"I know being a friend of mine sucks a lot of the time, but I appreciate that you've stuck by me through it all. Of course, we've had our arguments, but you always realize you're wrong and apologize," Harry said with a smirk. This time, Ron smacked him in the leg.

"Anyway, things are changing now. Dumbledore left me a job to do. No one else was asked; no one else can do it. It's my responsibility. As usual, though, I'd like you and Hermione to back me up, and Ginny too this time."

At hearing Ginny's inclusion, Ron's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to object, but Harry cut him off.

"Wait, let me finish," Harry said, putting a hand up to illustrate the point. "As I said, things have changed, and they're going to keep changing. We're adults now, regardless age exactly. I'm in charge of defeating Tom Riddle and his buddies. Not the Order, not the Ministry – me. Can you trust me? You don't have to agree with everything I say, but you have to think it through before you object, and you have to abide by my final decision. Is that something you can do, or are you better suited to a different path? Either way, I plan on us being best friends for a very long time."

Ron once again stared at the carpet in front of him, this time lost in thought. "So if you run off with my sister or with Hermione, you expect me to be happy with it?"

"Good question. No, I don't expect you to like it, but I expect you to respect the decision, knowing that I would do my utmost to keep them safe. And I'd probably need your help in making it happen, whether or not you were coming with us. Still sounds like a shit deal being my friend, doesn't it?"

Ron looked Harry straight in the eye, offered a hand to shake, and said, "Of course it does, mate. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

The two guys stood into a brief "man hug", then broke apart. They looked up when they heard Ginny descend the stairs, then Ron nodded to both Harry and Ginny and headed up the stairs to the boys' dorms.

Harry sat down on the couch this time, and Ginny sat next to him, laying a hand on his leg.

She spoke first, "So, you're talking to each of us alone, then all together. Sounds important."

Harry responded, "Oh, I'd definitely agree." He looked her in the eye, and continued, "Ginny, you, of all people, know how hard it was for me to identify my feelings, much less talk about them."

"Yeah," she replied with a smirk, "but you make up for it by being so easy to train."

He smiled back, and said, "Well, seeing as I am a bit more articulate, I want to tell you this: I love you."

Ginny's eyes and mouth flew open as she was obviously stunned by Harry's pronouncement.

"Thank you for being the first person to make me truly understand what love is. I only wish I was 'normal' enough to have a love life, that kind of commitment."

Ginny was not one to let Fate pass her by, so she spoke up, "Harry, who says we can't be together? Fate? Dumbledore? V-V-Voldemort? Well, to hell with them! I say we do what we want."

Harry brought a hand softly to her cheek, "Not this time, Ginny. This time, Fate wins. I've got a job to do, a job I've embraced. Things have changed; I'm changing with them. I'm smart enough now to know I need you in my life, but not that way. I need you as a team member, a friend, not as a girlfriend."

"What- what are you saying?" she asked.

"I was stupid not to notice before how smart, how brave, and how cunning you are. I have to fight what's left of Voldemort and his disciples, and I need friends I can trust around me. Can you accept me on these terms, or are you better suited to a different path?"

"I- I don't know, Harry. Wow, this really isn't what I expected." She looked him in the eye more critically, appraisingly. "You really have changed."

Harry heard the Ron and Hermione heading back downstairs from their dorms, and quickly told Ginny, "Think about it. Either way, I'll always be your friend so long as you want me."

Ginny shot out of her seat and said to Harry, "No. Not good enough. We're still talking."

She turned in the direction of Ron and Hermione, pointed up, and said, "Go!"

Hermione knew at once not to argue. She immediately turned around and headed back upstairs.

Ron, never quite as quick, said, "But..." One glare from Ginny had him headed back to his room as well.

Ginny turned back to Harry, smiled sweetly, and said, "Now, where were we?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Author's Notes:**

Although it may appear otherwise, this is not necessarily a Harry/Ginny fic. I'd like there to be at least temporary 'ships, but I haven't decided which yet. If you have any non-slash preferences, let me know.


	5. Soul Searching

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Harry's Hideaway**   
**Wednesday, June 25, 1997**

Harry was having a bad day. Really, even for Harry, this was bad.

After moving out of Hogwarts two weeks ago, Harry had retreated to a small one-room flat in a non-descript area in the outskirts of London, which he had Named "Harry's Hideaway". The neighborhood had just enough flavor and personality to be considered a "community". It was perfect for Harry: he could enjoy his solitude, but could enjoy the feeling of home and belonging that the local residents radiated.

Harry had cast the Fidelius on his flat to ensure his privacy; Dobby and Winky were the only creatures that knew of its existence or location. Since Harry had "adopted" them, he knew he could trust them. He couldn't say that about anyone else.

Harry had decided not to stay with the Dursleys, as Dumbledore had requested. Knowing Dumbledore's motives – to keep the Dursleys safe but available or his use if needed – Harry chose instead to give them one-way tickets to as-far-away-as-possible, plus enough money to resettle. Harry then searched Little Whinging for just the right family – a loving family down on their luck, unable to make ends meet, unable to afford their own house – and gave them Number Four Privet Drive. _Good use for a bad memory._

Harry had accomplished all of this – with tremendous help from Dobby and Winky – in the two weeks since he had left Hogwarts. Still, there was so much more to do. He had assets galore to worry about, which Dobby, Winky, and Kreacher were sorting for him. He also had Dobby and Winky creating several more flats like this one, including one in Hogsmeade and one in Diagon Alley, so Harry would have enough "safe houses" at his disposal.

A week ago, Harry still had four Horcruxes to find. Two of them had proven easy to track down. Ravenclaw's Tome had been at Hogwarts. The founder's textbook had not only been a Horcrux, it also held the curse on the DADA professorship. Riddle had thought that, with the professorship cursed, Dumbledore would have had to call on Riddle sooner or later to take the position, at which time he'd recover the Horcrux and remove the curse.

Hufflepuff's Cup had been just as easy to acquire, but was heart-rending in a different way. Riddle had planted the Hufflepuff artifact in the orphanage in which he grew up. Harry's heart went out to the children living there now, as conditions had only worsened in the fifty years since Tom lived there. Harry was determined to come up with an alternative for them; no child should live as the refuse of society.

Once Harry had the Cup and the Tome, circumstances stopped being so easy. Riddle's memories held the key to destroying a Horcrux, the same key that allowed one to create the damned artifact: the sacrifice of a life. An animal or plant wouldn't do; it had to be a sentient life – human, goblin, elf, etc. Rather than deal with this issue immediately, Harry stored the Horcruxes in the safest Gringotts vault he could buy.

Now, he had to find Slytherin's Locket and Nagini, and his last remaining resource was Riddle's deeper memories, the ones shielded enough that Harry had not automatically processed them as his own when he had absorbed them. Those memories included Riddle's greatest secrets, his darkest, blackest knowledge, his greatest triumphs and worst failures. As if this wasn't both risky and disgusting enough, there was one clincher that made Harry's skin crawl.

Harry would have to relive murdering his parents.

_If that doesn't prove I'm Fate's Bitch, nothing does._

Harry set up a circle for ritual magic, including a myriad of defensive wards in case he lost control. The wards proved to be unnecessary, since all he lost control of was his gag reflex and bladder. After nearly eight hours of meditation and plunging through his own dark, tortured mind, Harry emerged to think through what he had seen.

There was another Horcrux Tom had created, although he did so unintentionally – Harry himself. A small piece of Tom had been placed inside of Harry when Voldemort's curse rebounded off the Chosen One-Year-Old. That piece had lived on in Harry until the absorption ceremony of a few days prior. The ritual had dissolved the piece of Tom within Harry and added the memories and powers therein to the mish-mash that became the new Harry, just as it had done with the living Voldemort and the remnants of Dumbledore.

But that made seven Horcruxes – diary, ring, locket, cup, tome, Nagini, Harry – plus the living Voldemort, for a total of eight soul fragments. Riddle's plan had always been to split his soul into seven fragments, not eight.

Harry had also learned exactly how Nagini had been created. Tom had planned on creating a Horcrux with Gryffindor's Gem when he went to kill the Potters. The gem supposedly gave its possessor great strength and constitution, making them a big, beefy warrior worthy of legend. Riddle had thought it would be a beautiful irony to create a familiar from Gryffindor's artifact. The Horcrux had been left at Godric's Hollow after Voldemort's demise, and never discovered. Harry would never know how Dumbledore and the ministry wizards had overlooked the powerful artifact in the rubble. It lay there until Peter Pettigrew returned to Godric's Hollow, after he had been uncovered by Harry, Sirius, and friends. It was Wormtail's first stop in restoring his Master.

Eight fragments? Which was the extra? Why?

After some rest, Harry plunged once again into the recesses of his mind, searching for answers. Unfortunately, he found them.

_Harry stood outside a homey cottage in Godric's Hollow, Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew at his sides. Tonight was the culmination of decades of work. Tonight, he would create his final Horcrux, his metaphysical perfection. He had Gryffindor's Gem, the perfect receptacle. He would soon take the life of the ideal sacrifice, a child linked to him by Prophecy._

_Not far away, the deep gong of the midnight bell reverberated. It was time._

"_Wait here," Harry told his two servants. This would be exquisite torture for both men, as each so badly wanted the pleasure of killing James Potter. They both were too arrogant to realize they couldn't defeat their common nemesis. Harry debated letting them get taken down a peg, but decided he needed them too much to let Potter kill them. Besides, it pleased Harry to keep this boon from his two goons._

_Harry stepped up to the front door of the house, and, with hardly an effort, blew it to splinters. Potter sent two curses his way, which he didn't even bother to dodge. They exchanged another set of curses, and then Potter was dead. Harry smiled as he passed by the corpse, the lifeless eyes staring into the ceiling._

_Harry floated upstairs, toward the sound of a frantic mother and her crying child._

"_Please not Harry!"_

_Harry was feeling uncharacteristically merciful. The Potter cow need not die – both Severus and Peter each wanted to keep her as his own. Finally, however, enough was enough._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_Time slowed to almost a standstill. The green light engulfed both mother and child, and then rebounded. While the green light engulfed the Snake Lord, a yellow light engulfed the Gem, and a third light, also yellow, engulfed the child. In another heartbeat, the room was dark and quiet, except for the child's cry._

Harry emerged from his mind and, without realizing it, apparated to his once-home at Godric's Hollow. He let loose a cry of anguish and a burst of uncontrolled magic that were heard and seen for kilometers around. The raw magical energy destroyed everything within a dozen meters, decimating the last vestiges of Harry's one-time refuge.

Gryffindor's gem, the artifact embedded within Nagini, was indeed a Horcrux. It was not, as Harry had thought, Voldemort's last and most powerful Horcrux. That was a false memory Voldemort had created just in case Harry used the link they shared to gain inner knowledge. Even from beyond the grave, Voldemort had fooled Harry.

No, Voldemort's final Horcrux contained something far worse than a piece of Tom Marvolo Riddle. It was his last laugh, the greatest irony he had ever created.

Gryffindor's gem held a fragment of Harry Potter's soul.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Minutes later, multiple pops of apparition sounded as Aurors arrived to investigate the magical disturbance at Godric's Hollow. They found Harry naked, on his knees, in a crater more than a meter deep.

Harry sat unmoving as his senses catalogued every detail about those who had arrived – each person's height, body fat ratio, dental pattern, scars, wand hand, magical potency, and more. By the time they noticed Harry and approached the edge of the crater, Harry knew all of their magical and physical details, including that one of them carried the Dark Mark.

Harry stood, turned in the direction of the Marked Auror, and pointed.

"You, come here. Now."

Dawlish, the only one Harry knew by name, laughed at Harry's brazen statement. The others were much more nervous at Harry's appearance and attitude. No one moved.

Harry curled his pointing index finger in a "come here" gesture, and the Marked Auror was pulled to him. The others reacted instantly, firing stunners and more in Harry's direction. The bolts of magic bounced harmlessly off Harry's shield.

Harry raised the Auror's Marked arm for the others to see. They stopped firing, stunned by the revelation.

"How can you police the world," Harry asked them, "when you can't even police yourselves?"

With that, Harry stuck a finger on the man's Dark Mark. The Mark sizzled and the Auror screamed. After a moment, Harry released him, and the Auror collapsed on the ground.

"There. Not one of Voldemort's former lackeys will be able hide the Mark. It'll glow and refuse to be covered."

Dawlish still held his wand on Harry, and stepped forward into the crater. "I think that's quite enough, Potter. You're under arrest for assault of an Auror, indecent exposure, and underage magic. No need to try to apparate, disillusion yourself, or any of that other shit. We've warded against all of it."

Dawlish whipped around when he heard sudden movement and a cacophony of voices behind the rest of his team. "Oh, great, now the reporters have arrived." As Dawlish turned back to Harry, the Auror said, "All right, Potter, let's –"

The sentence would stay unfinished, though. Harry was gone.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Harry's Hideaway**   
**Thursday, June 26, 1997**

The next morning, Harry was roused from his meditation by Dobby.

"Harry Potter be having a message, sir. From the Minister, Harry Potter, sir," the elf told the mage.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry responded. Harry got up from the mat where he had been crouched. The mat was firm yet comfortable, and served as his exercise mat, meditation mat, and bed.

Harry was glad yesterday's little display of uncontrolled magic had not happened in his flat; a lot of neighbors would have been the worse for wear. Now he had to talk to the Minister, no doubt to

_HJP,_

_I believe we need to talk. Please meet me in my office this morning at 10 AM._

_RS_

"Dobby," Harry called. When the elf appeared in front of him, Harry continued, "Please send a response to the Minister that I accept his invitation and will meet him at the appointed time and place. Thank you."

Dobby bowed and popped away.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

At precisely 9:55 AM, Harry stepped into the Minister's outer office, and walked up to the woman minding the office.

"Pardon me," he said to the young witch. "I have a 10 AM appointment with Minister Scrimgeour."

The woman looked up and, to her credit, was only momentarily startled. "Yes, sir, Mr. Potter. Please have a seat. The Minister will be with you shortly."

"Thank you," Harry said.

Before he could sit down, though, the door to the inner office opened and Scrimgeour stepped out.

"Ah, Harry," he said. "Please come in. Mabel, tea, if you would."

"Of course, Minister," the secretary replied.

The two men entered the office and each took a seat. Harry remembered the office, and many of its occupants, through Tom's and Albus' memories.

"Now, Harry, we have several things to discuss," the Minister started.

"Yes, sir, we do," Harry agreed. "I'd like to start with this: Voldemort is indeed dead."

Harry let that soak in for a second, then continued. "I have much more to share, but would like to request actions on your part first."

"I'm listening," the Minister said. Any trace of warmth on his face was now gone. Harry could sense, however, that the Minister was not displeased… yet.

"I have three things to request. One: clean house. Dark marks can no longer be hidden, so former Death Eaters should be easy to spot. Furthermore, there are people like Dolores Umbridge who have literally tortured people for pleasure. Those people should be in prison, not in office."

"Harry," the Minister said slowly, "have you heard what happened to Dolores Umbridge?"

Harry was curious. He hadn't read a newspaper since before Albus died. "No, I have not. What happened?"

"She had her hands bitten off by what an eyewitness swears was a Grim. You… wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

"A… Grim, you say? A Grim?" Harry said as his eyes narrowed. He immediately expected a lie or some kind of devious plot, but could only sense truth from the man sitting across from him.

"Yes, a Grim. What's more, her body has rejected all attempts at re-growing her hands or using substitutes. Not only can she not perform magic, she can't even go to the restroom without assistance."

"Minister, I promise I know nothing about the Grim or about what happened to Ms. Umbridge. I once knew a dog animagus, but he died about 13 months ago."

"You're willing to swear an oath to verify you were in no way involved and have no knowledge who or what the Grim was?"

"I am."

"Fine," the Minister concluded. "Upon hearing what you did last night to Matt Jefferson, the Marked Auror, I confirmed by Veritaserum that he had served You-Know-Who, and have placed him under arrest. Likewise, we'll round up those Marked, and not settle for claims of 'I was under the Imperious'. As far as the un-Marked, I can't promise you anything specific."

"That's a start, though," Harry conceded. "Request two is that no one gets arrested without due cause or sent to prison without due process. Not like the sham of a trial I had in two years ago, I mean a real trial, a real effort by the Ministry to determine guilt or innocence."

Scrimgeour shot out of his seat and retorted angrily, "Now wait a minute, boy. Who do you –"

"For one, I'm not your boy. As a matter of fact, we're not even on a first name basis. Keep it to 'Mr. Potter', if you will. As for my request, what part of it bothers you? Justice? Due process? What part of it isn't your job anyway?" Harry replied calmly.

"Actually, Mr. Potter," the Minister said as he calmed himself and sat back down, "none of it's my job. That's the bailiwick of the Wizengamot and the rest of our judicial system. Nonetheless, you point is taken; the Ministry of Magic's first job is the protection of the wizards and witches of the British Commonwealth. My… hesitation was merely because I am unused to being reprimanded by a minor. I suppose you'll want Mr. Shunpike's case reviewed as well?"

"Actually, that's point three. I request that all existing prisoners have their cases reviewed and reopened if any anomalies are found."

"Actually," Scrimgeour said with a satisfied grin, "we're ahead of you on this one. With the Dementors no longer under Ministry employ – ever, if I have my way about it – we've had to make other arrangements for holding prisoners. The goblins will now tend that duty for us, and are reviewing the case of each prisoner transferred to them. As well as they tend money, they can likewise tend the rules governing wizarding judicial matters. Mr. Shunpike was released three days ago."

Of course, Harry knew that Scrimgeour would not review every judicial case himself, or talk to every suspect or prisoner. The Minister could, however, ensure all members of the Ministry understood that fair treatment was the only acceptable policy in judicial, legislative, and administrative matters.

Having covered Harry's requests, both men rose and shook hands. They decided to take a break before proceeding with the meeting. Mabel, the office minder, came in with a tea service, including a small assortment of scones and biscuits.

After tea and a snack, the two men traded the requested oaths, then moved on to new business.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour started, "what do you have to share with me?"

"First, as I said before, Voldemort is dead. I killed him myself, and can provide a pensieve memory as proof. However, Tom Riddle – the man who called himself Voldemort – created several means to resurrect himself. I have destroyed all but one, which I am currently pursuing. Also, I intend to recover a rather important Potter family artifact stolen by Riddle. With that, the whole Voldemort business will be done, once and for all."

"Really? Finished, completely?" Scrimgeour said in an almost awed voice. "No war, no massive loss of life? Just… done?"

"Well, that's a bit rosy, I suppose," Harry conceded. "Riddle's more active Death Eaters, like Bellatrix LeStrange, are still on the loose. There are also others, like Fenrir Greyback, that have to be dealt with. But I think you can splinter the remnants of Riddle's following by published a detailed history of the man's background and history. You can remind the world that, in the end, he was just a man."

And for the next three hours Harry shared a rather detailed life history of Tom Marvolo Riddle with the Minister.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

By the time Harry left the Ministry, it was almost 4 PM. Now that Harry was "playing nice", Scrimgeour had been generous with advice and a few boons. Knowing that Harry would never consent to work directly for the Ministry, Scrimgeour had given Harry some alternative educational and career advice that Harry actually liked and agreed to. Once Harry had reached his majority (age 17) and had attained Mastery in 'Defense Against the Dark Arts', he would automatically be granted bounty hunter status in the magical UK. Harry would be legally able to hunt and apprehend any person wanted by the Ministry of Magic.

Attaining Mastery for a subject area was a matter of taking written and practical examinations, much like the OWLs and NEWTs. In fact, a grade of 'E' or 'O' on the NEWT in a topic was required to take the Mastery Exams for that topic. The Minister suggested a way that Harry could gain the DADA Mastery in a very short amount of time, given he had the skills.

Once their discussions were done, the Minister convinced Harry to speak with the press in a very controlled setting to spread all of the news to the populace at large. Scrimgeour summoned the managing editor of the Daily Prophet, who was perfectly happy to act as a staff reporter in this case. The most important pieces of news – Voldemort's death, the now-glowing Dark Marks, names of Death Eaters still at large – would be in the next morning's paper. After that, details regarding Riddle's history and the like would fill front pages for months to come.

Eventually, the meeting was dismissed. Before all was said and done, Harry and the Minister did end up on a first name basis. Harry left the Minister a very happy politician.

Before Harry had even left the Ministry building, though, his mind was elsewhere. That night, he had to take the next step in recovering Horcruxes. Maybe, just maybe, he could get a lead on the location of the last piece of Riddle's soul, or the stolen piece of his own soul.

It was time for a trip to Spinner's End.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0


	6. Spinner's End 1

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Spinner's End**  
**Thursday, June 26, 1997**

Spinner's End. It was unbelievable, the ultimate hiding place for Severus Snape.

The area was a long-time mill town, created long before any regulation of industrial environments. The air was oppressive – it killed hope and bred despair. It matched Snape's demeanor perfectly, as far as Harry could tell. Yet no place could be more Muggle than this, with the smog, the industrial run-off filling the river, the plastic and cardboard garbage cluttering streets and filling alleys – signs of the industrialization and commercialization that never touched the British wizarding world.

From Harry's inherited memories, he knew that Snape's father had been born in this area and had worked here his entire life. How Eileen Prince had met the man, and why on earth she married him, were mysteries Harry didn't care to solve. Of course, the biggest mystery of all was why Snape chose to stay here when he could have moved away.

Harry appeared, invisible to physical and magical senses, in an alley behind a row of one- and two-story houses. The stench was almost overwhelming. A much-polluted river was nearby, from the smell of it, and the alley was filthy by anyone's standards.

When he was within a dozen meters of Snape's two-story house, Harry could sense the Fidelius that surrounded the property, as well as anti-apparition wards. Voldemort had been granted entry past the wards; Harry had inherited that access when he absorbed the self-titled Dark Lord.

Unfortunately, the wards incorporated spells to negate invisibility and other forms of magical camouflage. Harry couldn't remove those spells without bringing the wards down entirely, which would take a lot of time and would alert Snape – a bad idea all around. Harry would just have to be extra careful once inside the house.

Harry strengthened the anti-apparition wards and added anti-portkey wards and a few other wards as well. Not even an elf would be able to interrupt his visit to Snape's place. Furthermore, no one – Harry included – would be able to apparate from place to place inside the wards.

The house was drenched in dark magic – the magic energized by the suffering of the living. From Voldemort's experience, Harry knew the negative ambiance would distract his magical senses. In spite of that, he could detect at least two people inside – humans – and something else – several of them, in fact, very hard to focus on.

The presence of creatures he couldn't identify, even in the crudest sense – warm-blooded or cold-blooded, living or animated – set Harry on edge. Neither Albus nor Tom had senses as well defined as Harry's, so their memories were of little use. Harry knew the creatures weren't ghosts or poltergeists, as he had detected those at Hogwarts. Also, in theory, dementors and lethifolds would stand out like beacons to him. If they weren't anything living, anything strictly dead, or dementors or lethifolds, what could they be?

_Inferi, perhaps? Why would Snape have Inferi in his house? Having a party?_ Harry thought with a smirk. The humor did little to calm his nerves, though.

Without apparition, Harry would have to enter the house in a more conventional manner. He circled the house, sensing out the unoccupied areas, and magically locking the windows and making them impervious. Finally, he stopped at a spot along the wall that had a large cupboard or small storeroom on the other side.

Harry absorbed the cohesion of the wall at that spot, creating a door-sized breach within just a second. He levitated the storeroom's contents outside, taking care to place it all out of sight.

With the obstacles cleared, Harry stepped into the house.

As he entered, Harry's magical senses lit up. The residue of dark magic was denser than he had expected, and the sensual fog of anguish and torment surrounded and filled him. He could hear the whisper of screams long silenced, smell the blood long ago dried into the dirt, stone, and wood floors. He could feel the heat of fires that once consumed the unworthy, releasing their life-magic for use by those who deserved the power, those who truly knew what this power meant.

Those like Harry.

Harry knew. He, as Tom, had plumbed the riches gained by squeezing the gift of life from vermin. Or even better, by slowly, lovingly extracting the essence of the innocent, either by despoiling them, tarnishing that innocence, or by separating their soul and body, capturing the sweet energy released upon the senseless death of the pure.

Harry _wanted_ this house. This house fed him, nurtured him, brought forth... brought forth...

Harry fell to his hands and knees and vomited onto the ratty wooden floor. The harsh smell of his bile and half-digested food was a welcome relief from the stench of the river, the garbage outside, the musty closet, and of all the horrid memories and energies contained in this house.

Harry collected himself and stood again. No way was Snape's hovel going to get the better of him. It just wasn't going to happen.

It was time to do some property damage.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Without magical senses or camouflage, Harry stepped cautiously from the storeroom to the hallway, using his heightened mundane physical senses to ensure the "coast was clear". When he had assessed the house earlier, all signs of life – and unlife? – had been upstairs, so he looked for a stairwell.

Harry found the stairs, but, before he could head upward, the front door opened and closed, and a set of footsteps headed his direction. Harry slipped into a nearby dark crevice, just as Severus Snape rushed by and headed upstairs. Once Snape had moved by, Harry cautiously came out and followed him upstairs.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Harry saw three doorways, one open, two closed. He figured the closed door in the middle was a bathroom. From the open door to his right, he heard Snape's voice.

"Let's go, Narcissa. We've been granted asylum, but we must hurry."

The door to the right opened, and Harry nearly fell down the stairs trying to get out of sight. He peered around enough to see Draco Malfoy walking towards the room with Snape and Narcissa. Before Malfoy could reach them or say a word, Harry quietly said "Imperio" (no one – not even Harry – could cast a silent Unforgivable), and had Malfoy backtrack and head down the stairs and stand before Harry. Harry listened for a moment to ensure the others were not alerted, then took Malfoy's wand and absorbed it. _Hmmm… ash and bowtruckle… who makes a wand of bowtruckle?_

Harry stunned and immobilized Draco without movement or sound. The Dark Mark stood out angrily on the Malfoy heir's arm, defying the boy's attempts to hide it. Harry wondered briefly if he should leave to deliver Draco to the Aurors, but decided there was too big a risk of the others escaping. Having made this choice, Harry stuck Draco to the wall and moved to the top of the stairs. As he reached the top and turned to his right, toward the room holding Snape and Ms. Malfoy, Harry came face-to-face with the Potions Master.

"Potter!" the greasy ex-Professor hissed indignantly. "How…?"

"Surprise!" Harry retorted with a smile, and reached for Snape's wand.

Before Harry could reach the wand, though, he was pulled violently backward, lifted, and tossed down the stairs. The rolling fall to the first floor took only a few seconds, but felt long and torturous. When he finally reached bottom, Harry looked up and just had time to see his attacker before she was in his face. She was pale, her skin a powder white, her hair spiked and auburn, her lips and eyes blood red. She was dressed in robes – or was it a trench coat? – and had tight clothing underneath.

Most importantly, Harry could sense that she had the locket, Slytherin's locket. In fact, that's all he could sense from where she was standing. _Ah,_ Harry thought. _I can't sense vampires. Mystery solved._

**Wham!**

She slapped Harry, hard enough to throw him the length of the small living room to impact with the wall-length bookcase opposite the staircase. As he slid to the floor, Harry looked up at her and grinned. For the first time since the ceremony, he felt engaged. No, 'alive' – that was it. Finally, something required his full talents, his full attention. Finally, his heart beat and his blood flowed. _This_, **_THIS_** was living.

"Be still my heart," Harry said to her with a smirk as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and stood back up. "I think it's true love at last. Hi, I'm Potter, Harry Potter."

"Audra," she said without inflection or emotion, as she picked up an easy chair and threw it at him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter."

Harry ducked, and the chair smashed into the bookcase, knocking down the shelves not already decimated by Harry's collision. "Please," he said back to her, "call me Harry. It's not everyone I trade furniture with, you know." He then picked up a console-sized television set – from the 1960's, by the look of it – and threw it at her, low.

"No thank you, Mr. Potter," the alabaster warrior shot back. "You're not my type." This time, she threw a knife with her right hand, and followed it a second later with a hook and chain from her left hand.

As expected, Harry dodged the knife, moving directly into the path of the hook and chain. It pierced his right shoulder, including the graphorn hide armor front and back, then popped open and stuck fast in his right shoulder blade. With a yank, Audra once again threw Harry across the room.

Rather than hindering Harry, the pain mixed with his adrenalin just served to push him all the more. He stood and shot back, "Not your type? Why's that?"

Harry reached up and grabbed the chain where it entered his shoulder at the front, then dissolved the hook and a few links of chain. He grabbed the end of the remaining chain and yanked, using the motion to pull himself up and to pull Audra to him. Before she could react, they stood centimeters apart.

"You're human, that's why," she said, holding her ground, almost but not quite touching him. Their eyes were locked, his red eyes peering into hers.

"I can change," he said, also not moving.

"You can die," she returned, as emotionless as ever.

"Actually," he said, now sporting a thoughtful look, "it's not that easy. Believe me, I've tried."

Her hand suddenly whipped out to catch his, which had been sneaking into her jacket to get the locket. Their eyes stayed locked, never moving, never blinking. Their muscles tenses in preparation for another round of "trash the living room", but a voice interrupted their pending fight.

"Hold, Audra," a cold male voice said.

Harry broke eye contact with her to look at the group that had just come down the stairs. The person speaking – a male vampire – was in front, followed by Severus and Narcissa, Draco, and two more vampires, one male, one female.

The lead person spoke again, "Mr. Potter, I am Mr. Carlson, and the two in back are my associates Amber and Todd. Would you care to state your business here, or would you prefer another round of furniture rearrangement?"

"Personally, I'd prefer more quality time with Miss Audra," Harry said. "Somehow, though, I think it might be more prudent to state my business. I recently destroyed Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-named Lord Voldemort. I have also confiscated all but two of the artifacts Riddle created to expand his influence. One of the remaining artifacts is the locket in Miss Audra's possession. The other is Riddle's snake, which I believe that Severus and his friends can lead me to," Harry said, using Snape's first name just to irritate the Potions Master. "I came to discuss these matters with Severus."

"Potter, do you expect us to believe –" Snape started.

"Shut up, Snape," Carlson said in a flat voice leaving no room for argument. "Mr. Potter, the three humans have been granted asylum with the Welsh vampire community. The Locket of Slytherin was an earnest given to the community to seal the agreement. If you wish, I can request for you to be granted an audience with the elders to discuss the locket."

Harry sighed. Unfortunately, that looked like as good a deal as he was going to get. "Thank you, Mr. Carlson. I would appreciate that."

"As for the snake," Carlson said, turning to Snape and the Malfoys. "Do you know of this creature?" he asked them.

"Yes," Snape replied. He turned to Harry and said, "Pettigrew has the snake. He thinks it will somehow help him revive the Dark Lord. We last saw him a week ago just outside Corwen, where he gave us the locket."

"Thank you, Severus," he said neutrally. Weighing his options, Harry realized that he could do nothing else to gain information from Snape or the Malfoys. _For now, I'll bide my time,_ he thought. _But one day, I'll make sure the repayment was worth the wait._

Harry looked back at Carlson. "In seven days," Harry said, "I tell the Minister and company where these three fugitives are hiding, unless you or your elders request otherwise."

Carlson nodded his assent, then led his group out of the house. When they were gone, Harry slumped to the floor.

_So close. I was **this** close to that damn locket. Now, an army stands between me and that damn thing._

An even bigger weight pressed down on Harry, though. Somewhere out there, perhaps not even in England, was a man who carried a piece of his soul, and planned to revive it in just a few months. What would happen to Harry if Pettigrew succeeded?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0


	7. Spinner's End 2

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Daily Prophet, Friday, June 27, 1997**

**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Destroyed: Followers Scatter, Aurors Clean Up**

_For the story, see Page 2._

**Dark Mark Exposed: 'Chosen One' Makes Symbol into Beacon**

_For the story, see Page 4._

_Revealing photos! See Page 3_

**History of Dark Lord Revealed: Tom Marvolo Riddle was the Last of the Gaunts**

_For the story, see Page 5._

_For a comprehensive timeline, see Page 7._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Spinner's End**  
**Sunday, June 29, 1997**

Thirty-six hours later, Harry was once again at Spinner's End. It was mid-morning, and the summer sun was trying in vain to peer through the ever-present layers of smog. This was made even more difficult by the dark plumes of smoke rising from Snape's house.

Harry was watching the former Prince residence carefully, ensuring the flames consuming it did not extend to any neighboring houses. No matter how good a mage was at controlling fire, burning a magical item could be tricky.

Harry's vigil was interrupted by dual pops of apparition, instantly putting him on alert. The young man calmed, though, as he realized his three guests had arrived. Harry waved Ron, Hermione, and Ginny over to his spot across the street from the bonfire.

Harry had told them in advance how to dress ("bad neighborhood, all Muggles"), but nothing else about the occasion. Still, they had learned to expect anything around Harry, and so were not surprised at him watching someone's house burn to the ground.

"So, Harry," Ron said, with a nod toward the burning house, "is that the reason we're here? Whose house is it?"

"Up until day before yesterday," Harry answered, "this was Snape's home. I knew you night get a kick out of seeing it burn, but I actually thought we could talk while I monitor the fire. A lot's happened over the last couple of weeks and I thought I'd fill you in some place where we wouldn't have magical ears listening in."

"Snape's house? Really?" Ron asked, looking as though Christmas had come early.

Hermione looked thoughtfully at Harry for a moment, then asked. "Harry, why are you burning Professor Snape's house?"

"Hey," Ron said, not giving Harry time to reply, "what's wrong with giving Snape a little of what he's given us over the years?"

"Time, Ron," Harry answered simply. "I don't have time for revenge, and I can't afford to waste my energy on it either right now.

"This," Harry said, indicating the bonfire, "is the result of a few weeks worth of effort. I found the two Horcruxes that Riddle knew the location of. There are still two, though, that I can't find, so I dug through his memories to find where his people might be. That led me here, to Snape's house."

"You found two more Horcruxes?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Which ones? Are they Founders' artifacts? Did you destroy them? You know –"

"Breathe, Hermione," Ginny said with a smirk. "Give Harry a chance to answer."

Before Hermione could retort, Harry replied, "I found Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Tome. I haven't destroyed them yet, but neither will survive the process. I'm sorry, Hermione.

"The last two are Gryffindor's Gem, which is embedded inside Nagini, and Slytherin's Locket, which is now the property of the Welsh vampire community."

All three were stunned by that last revelation.

Ron whistled, "Vampires? That's not good."

"Yeah," Harry answered. "When I raided Snape's house day before yesterday, he, Draco Malfoy, and Malfoy's mum were meeting with four vampires. Snape and the Malfoys apparently used the locket as a good-will gift, and were granted asylum in the vampire community. I don't know why the vampires wanted the locket, though. I hope to be granted an audience with the enclave's council, and I'll find out what I can then."

Harry's three friends took a few minutes to digest this, then Ginny spoke up. "So, Harry, what's this about you uncovering a Death Eater in the Aurors while… uncovered yourself."

"It was in the Prophet, then?" Harry asked with a small scowl.

"Yes, it was," Ginny said with a smirk, "with photos. You know, Harry, since your change, you seem to be, well… doing some of your best work in the nude."

Harry laughed. "I hadn't realized that. It's ironic, I suppose, given my previously reserved nature. It's just hard to focus on outside appearances, when you can see inside, to the true nature of things."

Harry looked at the ground and continued, "The Godric's Hollow episode was a rather severe reaction to revisiting some of Riddle's memories – specifically, the ones from when he killed my parents and marked me. The Aurors just showed up at a bad time, while I was recovering."

Three pairs of eyes went wide. Harry's friends realized they had no way of understanding just how much that would hurt.

Ginny finally spoke up again, "If it helps any, Harry, none of the papers managed to get a shot of your naughty bits."

Hermione shrieked, "Ginny!" while Ron just stared at her with his jaw hanging open and his ears glowing red.

"What?" Ginny said innocently. "He might want to know, right?"

Harry smiled again, "Still, I'm sure 'Witch Weekly's having a run of it."

"So Harry," Hermione asked, "I asked before, but I don't believe our discussion reached the answer. Why are you burning down Profess–"

"_Mister_ Snape, not _Professor_," Harry interrupted, glad for once to turn the correction around. "Why am I decimating his house? Two words: 'cleansing fire'. This house is a stain on the magical essence of this neighborhood. There are quite a few cleansing rituals I could use to remove that stain, but the simplest and easiest is to cleanse it with fire."

Hermione's eyes went wide with academic excitement. "Oh wow. Don't Cleansing Fire rituals require very precise runic patterns? How did you...?" She suddenly deflated.

Harry realized it must be very frustrating for Hermione to accept that he'd gotten a very advanced education in Runes without a day of study. It was the Potions book incident all over again. _Time to see if she's grown since then_, he thought a bit sadly.

Engaging her "stiff upper lip", Hermione adopted a less-convincing interested look and asked, "Which rituals did you use? Can you show me the runes involved?"

"I'd be happy to," Harry responded. "If you like, you can help me place the runes on Grimmauld Place. It's next."

"..."

_Yes, I'm bad_, Harry thought as he enjoyed the shock value of his statement.

"When I found out that 'R.A.B.' was 'Regulus A. Black', I decided it was time to start sorting through some of the assets I've inherited. It's been quite the task, what with all the Black and Potter properties. Fortunately, Dobby, Winky, and Kreacher are on the job. Kreacher has been sorting the Black family assets; he's already stripped the house."

Harry watched the three for a reaction to the topic of elves. Hermione was thoughtful; apparently she was learning to hear the whole story before commenting. Ron, as direct as ever, was the first to take the bait.

"But isn't Kreacher barmy? Didn't he, well, betray Sirius and all?"

"Yeah," Harry responded. "Kreacher's still in bad shape, but we came to an understanding. Sorting the Black assets keeps him happy and out of trouble. I also bonded with Dobby and Winky; they're members of the Potter family. I treat Kreacher as a member of the Black family. None of them 'serve' me per se; they contribute their efforts to the family by their own free will."

Hermione finally spoke up. "Harry, how did you manage to accomplish all of this in the magical world while living t the Dursleys'? Didn't they put up a fuss?"

Harry replied with a smile, "I haven't been living at the Dursleys' house. I paid them to move far, far away and gave their old house to a family in need. Some good should come from that hellhole.

"As for me, I got my own one-room flat, just large enough for the family – me and the elves."

Ron asked, "Why not just stay at Grimmauld Place? I know it's got bad memories and all, but…"

Harry answered, "Are you kidding? That place is next on the bonfire list."

Hermione reacted with surprise, "Bonfire? You're… you're going to burn down Sirius' house? Why burn Black Mansion but give away the Dursley house?"

"The house on Privet drive had bad memories, but no real magical 'stain' to it," Harry responded. "It took Dobby and me less than a day to cleanse it. Grimmauld Place is like this house," Harry said, nodding toward the Snape house, "irredeemable, tainted. Did you notice that no matter how much we scrubbed and cleaned that place, it was always a mess? Every time we cleared out one doxy or pixie nest, another would spring up in its place."

Another thought came to Hermione's mind. "What's the Order going to do now without Black Mansion?"

Harry responded, "I have no idea, Hermione. I told McGonagall what I plan to do. She didn't like it, but understood my reasoning."

Ron asked Hermione's question again. "So where's the Order going to meet?"

Harry replied, "I have no idea, Ron. I'd recommend you ask an Order member."

"Oh."

Ginny now chimed in. "So let me get this straight. In the last two weeks, you've moved the Dursleys out of Surrey, gotten rid of their house, moved into your own flat, bonded with Dobby and Winky, blown up the remains of your family house at Godric's Hollow, faced down Aurors, exposed Death Eaters, tracked down Snape, burned down Snape's house, met with vampires, met with the Minister, AND reorganized your investment portfolio?"

"Well… yeah, I guess that about sums it up. You make it sound like a bad thing."

Ginny laid a hand on his arm. "Not at all, Harry. You're doing an incredible job. But even you need a break, right?"

Harry could see the concern in her eyes. She was moving on with her life, knowing her dreams of marrying Harry would never happen, but she still cared. It was a bittersweet thought.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied without the confidence in his voice that he'd had when discussing 'business'.

Ginny continued with an encouraging smile, "Some friends and I are going to the Hungry Horntail tonight, a nightclub in Diagon Alley. Why don't you join us?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Nine hours later, Harry stepped inside a maelstrom of light and sound, a din of smoke and blaring music with bodies packed wall-to-wall.

"What the fuck was I thinking?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to those who have reviewed! Your feedback is appreciated.!

I updated the dates in chapters 1 - 6, spacing things out a tad more. Also, I cleaned up Harry's conversation with the Minister at the end of chapter 5 and his conversation with Snape at the end of chapter 6.


End file.
